I’m awake at 4am,

like I have been for a while now.

Insomnia and I are friends once more

because of bad dreams

because my brain runs too fast and can’t switch off,

cannot relax.

My bed is full with small people and a bigger person too

and it’s warm and inviting.

I’m willed to get up though

because lying in bed is just an invitation for memories and worries to pin me down

but this is not depression.

With depression, you lose the will to do anything.

My weeks have been rushing by since

what has come to be known in my mind

as ‘the whole port saga’.

There has been no down time,

no time to recover and recollect

no time to work through the events of the month before

or the month before that

and when I do try to talk about it

I cry

and shake

and sweat,

cursing my body for its reaction

and so

I’ve stopped talking about it

because

people look at me differently and ask me if I’m medicated

or if I’ve considered therapy

but this is not depression.

It is something I need to work through,

something I need to get out of my system.

We seem to move so quickly through life

time to recoup

seems almost impossible.

Other’s tell me that I need to move forward,

and I will

if I can ever erase the memory of my littlest girl pale and blue in my arms,

cold, so cold,

if I can ever stop hearing that terrible cry

or the urgent voice of my eldest children

that I should

‘do something, Mum!’

‘do something (anything) Mum, she’s dying‘!

and yes,

I have felt angry

and overwhelmed

and at times sad;

melancholy.

All of our lives have been turned upside down with

what we now know is going to be a life long

thing (for want of a better word)

for Ivy

and somedays I feel hopeless

because my marriage is under enormous pressure and

I wonder if we will make it and

things are most definitely not how I imagined they would be,

seventeen years ago, on the eve of my wedding day

and there are times when I feel

like I am totally lost

and wonder if I will ever find me again.

I worry incessantly about the other children

and how they are coping with all of this

but this is not depression.

It is grief for what should have been and what will never be.

It is an adjustment phase

a time to learn and to accept

a new normal

and just for the record,

I know depression

I know the weight of that black dog

sitting on my back.

I know that darkness

of never wanting to roll over to meet the new day.

I know that for me

depression is about

not caring any more

about anything.

That’s not what this is at all…

is it?